


Aromatic

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Bukkake, Established Relationship, Facials, Ficlet, M/M, PWP, Scent Marking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-11 01:18:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3310454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thranduil sets his claim.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aromatic

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “Everyone keeps giving Bard the once over and appreciative offers and Thranduil's had enough of that. The dragon-slayer is his! Since the finger-shaped bruises on his body and just fucked look isn't doing anything to dissuade others from looking away he decides to up his game. Once he's done fucking Bard into the mattress/throne/wherever he either plays with his ass or presses on his lower abdomen so that his cum leaks out and then smears it all over Bard's skin or he straddles/stand over him and comes again on his chest, neck, face and rubs it in. I just really need Thranduil getting his scent all over Bard to ward off everyone else.” prompt on [The Hobbit Kink Meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/13429.html?thread=25206389#t25206389).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

For once, Thranduil doesn’t mind when his pleasure nears the end. Usually he wants their coupling to last for ages, for as long as it possibly can, and there have been times he’s spent the entire night pounding his human lover into the bed. But tonight’s round is for a purpose, and Thranduil is looking just as forward to the ending as he was to the ride. 

He stops when he’s too close, just a stroke from his finish. He takes a moment to steady himself, while Bard’s soft walls squeeze at him, trying valiantly to milk him out. Bard, as always, is _so_ tight, fiercely hot and squirming beneath him, Bard’s handsome body splayed along the twisting steps to Thranduil’s throne. It’s an awkward configuration, but Bard’s never seemed to mind it rough. The constant need to shift and readjust has also given Thranduil the excuse to hold onto him in more places, digging deep, finger-shaped grooves into his skin, all along his sides and his thighs and his chest. His shoulders and neck are littered with teeth marks, purposely above the collar. The next fool who tries to flirt with Thranduil’s human will know: this man, the treasure of Dale, is taken.

And Thranduil will drive that home with his scent. He forces himself to pull out of Bard’s ass, already trailing a few sticky strings of precum. As the king of the elves, Thranduil is, of course, quite virile. He could have his entire court bearing his line in one night, if he wanted. But he has his heir, and all he wants now is for the world to know exactly whom Bard belongs to.

Thranduil wastes little time collecting himself. He rises to his feet, his cock still hanging out of his pants and his robes parted for it, but the rest of his clothes in place. Bard’s spent form collapses beneath him, having already come once in this round but clearly up to try again. Thranduil picks carefully over him, up the narrow staircase to lounge back in the royal throne. The solid frame is a welcome relief. The sight of his grand kingdom, the pride and power of his throne, all comes roaring back to him. He spreads his legs and bids, “Bard.”

Lifting up on his hands and knees, Bard growls, “What’re you doing?” His matted hair’s a mess across his sweat-slicked forehead, his body panting in exertion. He’s been stripped down to nothing, his clothes a crumpled mess on the dais below. It’s partly for a show of Thranduil’s dominance, partly so it’s easier to _mark_ him. Yet he’s still wild enough to look feral, never quite tamed. Thranduil smirks, head lolling casually aside so that his long hair slips over his shoulder. 

“Come here,” Thranduil purrs. He says no more, because he doesn’t have to. Understanding flickers across Bard’s face, and he crawls forward on hands and knees, not bothering to stand. He climbs the last few stairs to kneel on the final step, tucked between Thranduil’s thighs. With his hands dipping to wrap around his own cock, he opens his mouth and presses forward, swiping his spongy tongue up the thick curve of Thranduil’s dick. Thranduil hisses, hips bucking forward, and Bard pops onto the head with a squelching noise. He only has to swallow Thranduil halfway before Thranduil’s hips do the rest. 

It only takes three thrusts, and then Thranduil is yanking Bard off by the hair and bursting in his face, painting over his forehead and the bridge of his nose. Bard splutters, quickly shutting his eyes, but he doesn’t turn away. He lets himself be soaked as jet after jet of Thranduil’s hot cum splatters his sun-kissed skin. It drizzles, thick and pearly white, down Bard’s cheeks, slicking into the stubble along his jaw. By the time it’s coating Bard’s neck, Thranduil puts his foot against Bard’s shoulder and bends him back, letting the stream run freely down his chest. 

Every last drop is finding its mark, but Thranduil feels the need to participate all the same. With one hand still holding Bard’s hair, the other loops around his shaft, and he pushes his engorged tip against Bard’s face, rubbing down his cheek and smearing it across his lips. Bard opens his mouth obediently, but Thranduil only lets him swallow a few drops before moving on. He wants to make sure Bard _reeks_ of him, wants his brand seared into Bard’s skin, his claim unequivocal. The next dwarf who dares to cross Bard’s path won’t be so eager to linger this time, and none of Thranduil’s guards or subjects will be foolish enough to flirt so wantonly as they’ve been doing. He understands Bard’s allure, of course, but he smothers that all in his seed, spraying all down Bard’s chest until it’s leaking over his crotch, dribbling down his thighs. By the time Thranduil’s final throes are coming, he’s drenched all of Bard’s front, and he has just enough in him to stand up and force Bard’s head down, splattering the rest down Bard’s bowed back. As Thranduil’s orgasm washes to an end, he watches one final, large drop wind its way down the arch of Bard’s spine, until it disappears between his cheeks, where Thranduil will be pouring the next round.

For now, he settles back, breathing heavily more from pleasure than effort. Bard’s natural musk, normally so very pungent, has been drowned out in his. For a few glorious, blissful moments, Thranduil simply stares at his handiwork, while Bard crudely jerks himself off at Thranduil’s feet. 

Once Bard’s splattered his own seed against the foot of Thranduil’s thrown, he reaches down to draw the human up. Bard, staggering and dizzy from being fucked and on his knees so long, climbs up into his lap, heavy and warm. It’s a messy sprawl of limbs, but Thranduil intends to keep his mate close until he’s ready to begin again. After a peaceful stretch of silence, Bard sighs, “You’re ridiculous.”

Thranduil purposely avoids the argument of the dwarf that stared at Bard too long, the incident that pushed Thranduil over the edge, and instead muses, “I suppose I could always simply lock you in my dungeon...”

“I guess I’ll take the scent marking, then,” Bard laughs. Grinning with his own joke, Thranduil gives Bard a purely sweet kiss, his poor but lovely mate having earned it.


End file.
